


Imperfect/Ideal

by MeltyKarasu



Category: RWBY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyKarasu/pseuds/MeltyKarasu
Summary: Whether it be chance or destiny, four girls meet amidst an ever-fracturing world.(AU.)





	1. ④

**In The Case Of Ruby Rose**

The school counselor's waiting room was silent save for the steady ticking of an old-style mechanical clock hanging on the wall. 

Ruby Rose held her head back further, her left hand pushing the red-soaked tissue further up her nose and her right hand pinching her nose bone; her mother had always suggested this as the cure for a nosebleed, especially this sort of nosebleed. 

Her mother. Her mother, her mother, her mother. Did it always come back to her mother?

"Miss Rose?"

Ruby looked down at the counselor. He was a balding man with oversized spectacles. She looked back up at the ceiling. "Just a moment."

The man grunted and put his hands on his hips. After a moment, Ruby stood and followed him into his office proper. 

"Have a seat," the counselor said. He stood behind his desk. Ruby sat in one of the plush seats before the desk. 

"After this many... _ infractions, _ I doubt you need reminding of our policies with regards to fighting on school grounds. But I suppose, for the sake of formalities, I'll reiterate: No fighting, whether that be before, during, or after school hours. You'll be suspended for three days—"

"I know," Ruby whispered, looking down. 

"—and given your record of delinquency, I will tell you that this  _ is _ your last—"

The phone on the desk rang, interrupting the man. He sighed, his momentum broken, and picked up the phone, glaring at Ruby. 

"Hello? Yes, this is him. Yes, sir, she's right here. Who?" The counselor paused. "No, no, no. He's overstepping. She's under  _ our _ jurisdiction, and—yes, I understand, sir, but—yes. No sir. I understand. I'll let her know. Thank you sir. Goodbye." 

He hung up, still glaring at Ruby. He folded his arms. 

Ruby quirked an eyebrow. "What's up?"

"We're waiting," the counselor said disdainfully. "There's someone who wants to talk to you."

"Who?"

"Ozpin. He's the headmaster at Beacon Academy." The man scoffed. 

Ruby's eyebrows rose. "Beacon...?"

"Beacon," the man repeated. "Damn crackpots. We don't need vigilantes. If the council had their heads on straight, they'd form a proper military, like Atlas."

Ruby didn't say anything. Her fists were shaking. The counselor grumbled and sat down and refolded his arms, still glaring at her. He didn’t continue talking. Whatever orders he’d been given, continuing to chew her out wasn’t among them. 

After a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. The counselor stood and walked over to open the door. 

Ozpin was a man a few years older than her father, and probably about as tall. His hair had already gone almost completely gray, and he was wearing tiny circular green sunglasses and a suit in various shades of dark green. 

"Good afternoon," Ozpin said, stepping into the office. "I'm sorry to have been rather late. How much were you told?"

"The bare minimum," the counselor began, "but I seem to understand the gist."

"Well, that's fine and all, but if you don't mind, I need to have a private conversation with Miss Rose here about the future of her education," Ozpin said cordially. 

"Whatever you want, 'Headmaster,'" the counselor responded sarcastically before stepping out of the room. 

"Well," Ozpin said, sitting down opposite Ruby. "I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Ozpin, and as you may be aware, I am the headmaster up at Beacon Academy. I believe your sister is attending this year, correct?"

"Yeah," Ruby said. 

"You did a number on that boy," Ozpin said. "Do you mind me asking what he'd said?"

"He said Hunters were self-sacrificing idiots," Ruby said glumly. "I said my mother was a Huntress. He laughed at me, so I punched him."

"I knew your mother," Ozpin said. "She was one of the bravest people I've ever met. She was fearless and kind. You look a lot like her, you know. You have her eyes.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ruby said, grumpily. "All of my dad's friends say the same thing."

“Tell me, Miss Rose, what your future is like. Do you plan to apply for Beacon, by any chance?"

"I dunno," Ruby said. "I always  _ wanted  _ to be a Huntress like my mom, but..." She trailed off. 

" _ Well, _ I reviewed your transcripts on the way over," Ozpin said. "Aside from your various cases of truancy and," he indicated the air around them, "schoolyard fighting, you're honestly well poised to enter Beacon, even right now.”

Ruby kept silent.

Ozpin continued, his tone seemingly aimless: “As a matter of fact, this weekend we'll be sitting a group for their entrance exams. I'd like to see you there, if possible. And should you pass, well, we'll move you up into Beacon's curriculum.” 

Ruby's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," Ozpin said with a kind smile. “You’d be starting day-and-date with your sister, as a matter of fact.”

“But why?” Ruby asked. 

Ozpin adjusted his sunglasses. “Because, Miss Rose, you and I are both aware that you’re not cut out to be an ordinary delinquent. You don’t want an ordinary life. I don’t want you to have one, either. And so I’m giving you a chance.” He stood and strode for the door. “Two days from now, eight-thirty in the morning. We’re holding them in the library at this school, as a matter of fact. I’ll let them know you’re coming.” He opened the door and stepped through. 

Ruby sighed and felt her face along where the boy had hit her. A bruise was already starting to form. 

Ozpin poked his head back in. “Oh, and you should be good to go home, by the way. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about your suspension, and, well, should you get expelled before the end of the year, then I’m afraid you’d have to resit the exam next year. Just keep quiet, attend your classes, and in a few weeks our admissions department will get back to you.” He slipped back out the door. 

Ruby slouched down in the chair and flipped open her scroll. She took the bloodstained tissues out of her nose as she began to flick through her media feeds.

The setting sun began to peek through the windows. She supposed it was time to go home. 

* * *

The walk home felt longer than usual. 

Ruby shut the front door behind her and took her backpack off her shoulders, holding it by its top handle. 

"I'm home," she called out. 

The only response was the muffled sound of television coming from the living room. Ruby peeked out into the room. Taiyang was passed out on the sofa, the television droning on over footage of some sporting event. Ruby crept into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a soda before making her way upstairs. 

Yang's room was dark, and there was no response to a knock. Definitely out, probably in Vale, probably until late at night. She sighed and trudged on towards her room. 

She unlocked the door and stepped in. The room was halfway to a wreck. It was not yet “messy”, but it was “cluttered”. 

She tossed her backpack and jacket onto her bed before untying her boots and setting them by her dresser with her sneakers. She leapt onto the bed and crawled across it to grab the remote resting on her nightstand. 

With a press of a button, the old, battered viewscreen mounted opposite her bed flickered to life. 

“Holo, browse film collection,” Ruby said aloud as she rummaged through the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She retrieved the half-filled bag of chips and sat upright on her bed. The screen was displaying a dozen previously viewed films. “Go to ‘backlog’. Holo, page right. Page right, page right. Page left. Start  _ Love and Death in  _ _ Kuchinashi.  _ Volume level seven, subtitles on.” 

There was something nice about the ability of a film to transport you away. Right now Ruby could just lay back on her bed and enjoy gangsters in Incursion-era Mistral diving through the air and shooting each other. She cracked open her soda as the opening titles faded out. 

Two-thirds of the way in, well after Ruby had finished out the bag of chips and soda, Taiyang knocked. He peered in through the crack between the door and its frame.

“Holo, pause,” Ruby said. “Yeah?”

“I’m gonna grab something for dinner,” Taiyang said. “What do you want?”

“Nuggets,” Ruby said. “With sweet-and-sour sauce.”

“You got it,” Taiyang said, trudging off. 

“Holo, resume.”

The rest of the film played out exactly as she’d expected. As the credits rolled, Taiyang dangled a bag through the door-crack again. 

“Thanks, dad,” Ruby said, taking them from him. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Taiyang responded. He shuffled off. Ruby hopped back on her bed and carefully removed the box of nuggets. 

“Holo, browse my TV collection,” Ruby said as she counted out her nuggets. “Animated. Currently airing. Genre, magical girls.” She dumped the fries into her box. Play  _ Under The Broken Moon S: Soldiers of Justice, _ continue from where I left off. Autoplay on. Thank you.”

She began to eat as the opening animation played. There was a peppy pop number being played. Ruby wasn't really feeling it. 

There was really nothing to be said about Ruby’s relationship with her father, in that she didn’t really think it existed in much of a sense. All of her father’s friends, the rare occasions she did see them, had mentioned that Ruby’s mother’s death had changed him. Ruby was too young to really remember if he had been terribly different. Perhaps he had always been distant. 

What was certain was that he rarely spoke to his daughters, he scarcely asked about their goings-on, and he’d definitely thrown himself into his work at Signal Prep School. When he wasn’t actually in the building he was either watching television alone or working on lesson plans. 

Ruby wondered if Taiyang had even thought about talking to Yang about her biological mother, or if their grandmother had to explain it to Yang, as she did to Ruby. 

Ruby sighed and scarfed down a fistful of salty fries dunked in sweet and sour sauce. 

The show had proceeded from the opening and into the so-called plot, although Ruby could smell a filler episode a mile away and this reeked of it. It was pure monster-of-the-week — as the season neared its midpoint it was without question that the showrunners would hold this pattern for at least three if not five weeks before the inevitable third-act twist. The start-stop was why Ruby had stopped keeping up with the series on a week-by-week basis. It was best enjoyed in three hour binges, because that assured at least  _ one _ plot development. 

As the ending credits theme of the first episode played, Ruby tossed her garbage in the small trash bin beside her desk. 

About midway into the third episode, Yang softly knocked, peering in. “Sup,” she said. 

“Hey, Yang,” Ruby replied. “How was your night?”

“Pretty sucky,” Yang said. “I got in a fight.”

Ruby was still watching her show. “Did ya win?”

“Not really,” Yang said, opening the door and creeping in. “Scooch?”

Ruby slid over. Yang climbed aboard the bed and sat next to Ruby.

“Whatcha watching?”

“ _ Under the Broken Moon,”  _ Ruby explained. “The bad guys are after some Pure Heart nonsense, although Mina thinks it may not actually be a heart in the first place. We’re still in the middle of the filler.”

“Neat,” Yang said. “I always liked the black haired one. She’s feisty.”

“Yeah. So what was your fight about?”

“Nothing cool,” Yang said with a sigh. “Just, y’know, asking too many questions.”

“Is it the thing you asked me to never ask about?”

“Yeah. So what’s the bad guys’ goal this season?”

Ruby chuckled. “Turn the world into an ice planet.”

Yang rolled her eyes. “Figures. It’s always something ridiculous. If these villains  _ actually  _ wanted to take over the world, they should just market their magic or technology and use that money to pay off all the leaders of the world.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not very cinematic.”

They watched in silence. One episode ended and the next began. Ruby skipped the intro with the remote this time. 

“I mean,” Yang began, “it just feels like I’m not really getting anywhere with my search for my mom. I mean, Qrow won’t talk to me about her, all I have is a name and an old picture, and there’s, like, nobody in Vale who knows  _ anything.” _

Ruby nodded in sympathy. “Sounds rough.”

“At this point, I’m worried that she’s dead,” Yang said. “Also, what is this nonsense? Do they have to do the whole transformation montage every episode?”

“It’s worse in the movies,” Ruby said. “You’re seeing the  _ cut-down _ version.”

“Oh, man,” Yang said. “Are the movies any good?”

“Not really. They’re either long episodes or really, really short seasons.”

“That would suck, yeah.”

“So have you had  _ any _ leads on your bio-mom?”

“I mean, aside from the fact that she exists and Qrow talks as if she’s still alive? Not really. If she is alive, she’s a fucking hermit out in the woods somewhere.” Yang sighed. “I mean, what’s the point of asking her to be my mother again, right? I mean, I’m going off to school in the fall. And you’re, like, self-sufficient, mostly. We’ve passed the point where mothers are a necessity, right? And that’s, like, a tragedy that we had to grow up quick, and shit, but that’s not, like, world ending.”

Ruby nodded.

Yang slumped down into Ruby’s stack of pillows. “Your bed is comfy as fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby said. “When are you going to bed?”

“Never,” Yang murmured. “How was school?”

“Sucked. Got into another fight because Douglas couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Mom.”

“Idiot,” Yang grumbled. “They chew you out for it?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Ruby said. 

She didn’t mention Ozpin bailing her out. She looked at Yang. Yang was looking at the viewscreen but not really paying attention to the cartoon at this point. 

“I got suspended for a few days.”

“That’s not too bad,” Yang said. “Is every episode of this supposed to be, like, the same thing?”

“It’s filler while they write the third act,” Ruby said. “The animation always takes a nosedive, too. The fun drinking game is to take a shot every time they don’t have to animate mouths for dialogue.”

“Yikes.” Yang yawned. “Well, I’m gonna head off to bed, ‘n’ all. Have fun watching your cartoon. Night.” She slid off the bed and stumbled out of Ruby’s room. 

“Good night,” Ruby said.

The room was silent save for the droning of the viewscreen. 

“Holo, power down after two more episodes,” Ruby said, rearranging her pillows. She tucked herself under the covers before sliding off her jeans and tossing them on the carpet. 

She wasn’t really certain about today. It’d been a pretty crappy day. She supposed the whole deal with Ozpin asking her to test for Beacon was pretty okay. 

Still, what were the chances she would actually pass whatever shitty standardized test they had?

She closed her eyes and rolled over. Tomorrow would be another day.

* * *

**In The Case of Weiss Schnee**

From the third floor of the Schnee Manor, Weiss had a wonderful view of the incoming procession of cars. 

There were eight of them this time. Usually it was nine, never more than eleven, no fewer than four cars. As she observed the cars driving in, she went through her mental list of tonight’s guests.

Those three white cars in front were the heads of the SDC’s divisions, as usual.

Next were the guests of honor.

The occasion was the finalization of the merger — well, buyout, but that wasn’t what they were calling it — of Scaramanga Enterprises with the Schnee Dust Company. Therefore, Sol Scaramanga and potentially his daughter Saffron were likely in the classic (though remarkably well-maintained) pastel blue car just after. At the least, they had style. 

Next were the remainder of the socialites who ascended to the rarefied height so as to be invited to Jacques Schnee’s more  _ exclusive _ gatherings, such as this dinner party. These were a motley crew of cars, but their colors were usually restrained and their style very modern. There were three of these this time. 

But the car in the back — 

It was an all-black car of a particular make and model, with the Atlesian Military’s sigil emblazoned on its hood. It reminded Weiss of an old war film, the sort her father would watch late at night. 

That was the personal staff car of General James Ironwood. 

Weiss folded her arms and glared out the window at that car. 

James Ironwood would visit every few months to do upkeep on the SDC’s relationship with the military. His visits had been getting more tense as of late, and rarely left a pleasant taste in anyone’s mouth. 

This probably had something to do with Winter Schnee being promoted to Specialist whilst simultaneously being written out of the will. 

Weiss sighed. It was time for another dinner party. 

She peeked in the mirror. Her hair had been done up earlier in the day and showed no signs of loosening. The makeup was holding fast and would hopefully last the night. The dress was immaculate, as uncomfortable as it was. 

She was ready.

She descended through the labyrinthine passages and stairways until she reached the drawing room. 

It wasn’t terribly crowded tonight. Of the three couches, two were completely occupied, mostly by the SDC division heads and one Whitley Schnee. A tanned man in a black suit was the only occupant of the third couch, but he seemed to not be terribly interested in the conversation among the rest of the partygoers. 

Her father was already there, discussing something or other with a couple of socialites. He glanced over as Weiss opened the door and silently beckoned for her to move to his side. 

“Ah, this must be the famous Weiss Schnee,” one of the socialites her father was talking to said as she approached. 

“Indeed it is,” Jacques said. “We were  _ just  _ discussing your prospects up at the University, Weiss. Brock thinks with your aptitude you really ought to apply.”

“I’ll consider it,” Weiss said. 

Her father smiled and looked back at the man. “Ah, she’ll consider it. Now, I believe you had just mentioned a rather unusual car you were looking into selling...”

Weiss held in a sigh. She looked around and spied James Ironwood across the room, standing beside another high-ranking military officer with ashy hair. She stepped away from Jacques, hoping to at least  _ ask  _ about Winter before—

“Dinner is ready to be served,” Klein announced from the entrance to the dining room. 

Drat. So there went that opportunity. 

The dining room was particularly well-decorated tonight. The staff had likely been informed that it was to be immaculate, and so it was. The lighting was warm in spite of the cool colors of the room. 

Weiss moved with the guests into the dining room. Her father took his typical place at the head of the table, while she sat to his right, and Sol Scaramanga sat to his left. Saffron shuffled in and took her seat at Weiss’s right. 

Ironwood and the other officer took their place at the furthest end of the table. 

Weiss mentally cursed without breaking her calm, pleasant demeanor. 

Klein and one of the maids went down the sides of the tables, pouring champagne in each dinner guest’s first glass — save for Weiss and Whitley, further down the table. A third maid appeared shortly after to fill their glasses with sparkling juice. Weiss whispered a thank you to them. 

The instant that the staff had left, Jacques stood with glass in hand. 

“Today, we celebrate the joining of two empires. Both the Schnee Dust Company and Scaramanga Enterprises rose to prominence during the Incursion, as those who would become the Huntsmen and Huntresses of the world banded together to repel the vicious Grimm. I need not remind you all of those turbulent years. Every one among us lost something. And yet from those ashes, we emerged all the stronger. In a way, it’s almost poetic that our two companies, mirrored as they are, finally join together in blissful harmony. And so: a toast to old rivals, and new friends.”

Weiss wasn’t sure if what she was doing was soft applause or half-hearted applause. The sound of everyone else seemed to drown out the sound of her own clapping, however. 

The first course was a creamy soup laden with vegetables and small dumplings. 

Jacques Schnee wordlessly offered the opportunity for the first bite up to Sol Scaramanga. 

You could not find two different men between Jacques Schnee and Sol Scaramanga, Weiss considered. 

Sol Scaramanga was a tall, imposing man with a dark gaze. Even in his ex-rival's home, his very presence was commanding. Part of this was his background; he had been an officer of the Atlesian military for some time and had carried that bearing through his career in the private sector. He'd used his modest wealth to acquire land rich in Dust just as the so-called Dust bubble began to expand. He had been prudent in his policies and acquisitions and eventually his company had grown to be the second-best Dust supplier in the world. He lived in his family's home south of Atlas.

Jacques Schnee was a rather smart man from a small family who had married into modest wealth and, as the story went, doggedly pursued his new company's growth and profits. The manor in which they all sat was only a couple years older than Weiss herself, and it had been gaudily decorated to evoke the notion of wealth to the untrained eye. 

"This is quite good," Sol said. 

"Indeed it is," Jacques said. He was a little smug; Weiss could tell. 

The conversation moved on. Jacques described his plan to incorporate Schnee Auto-Train technology into the former Scaramanga mines' transportation by the end of the year. Sol was listening passively, nodding along appropriately. 

"There was that Auto-Train incident last month," Saffron pointed out. "The one where the back half of the first train unhitched and the next train collided with it."

"A mere anomaly," Jacques countered. He was visibly uncomfortable with the subject of discussion now. 

Luckily, the servants emerged with fresh plates. 

The second course was poached salmon in a cream sauce.

Jacques returned to the calm, smug demeanor he had begun the dinner with.

"So, Sol, your daughter is a fashion model, correct?"

Sol shook his head. "Not entirely. Saffron could explain it better than I." He tipped his head in her direction. 

"Well," Saffron said smugly. "I'm a licensed Huntress who also models. Most of the brands that contact me for modelling market themselves as being both stylish and functional — think fashionable activewear, to put it bluntly. 

Sol smiled proudly at her. (Weiss felt a little jealous.) He looked back at Jacques. "And your daughter?"

"Weiss is considering attending Atlas University this autumn to study business," Jacques said. “And she is, of course, the heiress to the SDC empire.”

Weiss "considered" this a bold-faced lie, but she didn’t speak up. 

"I meant your other daughter," Sol said. 

The tension in the room rose by several notches. Jacques squirmed slightly. 

"She's an officer in the Atlesian military," Ironwood said from the opposite end of the table, seemingly indifferent to the atmosphere. 

Sol quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is Miss Schnee's rank?"

"She's a Specialist," Ironwood responded. "The same title you once held, if memory serves."

"A venerable position," Sol said with a smile. 

Jacques was visibly frustrated for a moment, but he seemed to calm down after taking a deep breath. 

The conversation died down. They ate and chattered. Brock told a somewhat embarrassing story from his youth. The servants returned to collect the dishes and fill their next glasses of wine. 

Weiss looked at Jacques. She knew the expression on his face well — it was the same expression he carried when he knew he had better cards than the man sitting across from him. The next course was the one he’d been waiting for all night. 

The servants entered the room with a pair of lidded silver serving trays. Weiss could smell the dish faintly, but not well enough to discern what her father had planned. 

The servants stepped forth and unveiled the dish. 

It was a pastry roll that had been cut into thick slices. Weiss could smell beef and mushrooms. 

Jacques was smiling as the servants served the dish. Once again, he offered the first bite to Sol. 

Sol quirked an eyebrow and cut off a hunk of the dish. He placed it in his mouth.

“That’s not synthetic beef you’re tasting,” Jacques said. “That’s real tenderloin. Had it sent up yesterday. And the butter in the pastry is from the same ranch.”

“Quite good,” Sol said calmly, carving off another piece. “My compliments to your chef.”

Weiss silently took a bite herself. 

Underreaction. Sol was almost certainly deliberately doing this. Jacques had hoped for a rout, for the Scaramangas to be thoroughly impressed by his wealth and opulence. Sol Scaramanga had remained calmly unfazed in the face of his rival. 

Weiss snuck a glance down the table. Ironwood was unfazed as well. 

Jacques’s hand had been too short to take the pot. 

“This is really some stellar stuff, Jacques,” one of the SDC heads said. The words fell on deaf ears. 

The conversation meandered. The man in the dark suit — a doctor of some sort, apparently — talked about some of his research into the modern behavioral patterns of Grimm. 

The dessert came out. It was a Mistralian layered pastry laden with nuts and syrup. 

Jacques began to tell a story about his early days running the company. Most of the party were enthralled, save for Saffron, who looked completely disinterested, and Weiss, who had heard the story about a dozen times over. 

“So,” Weiss asked Saffron lowly. “How’s being a Huntress?”

“Not so terrible,” Saffron said with a knowing tone of voice. “The pay’s real good.”

“Did you attend Atlas Academy?”

“No, actually, I was up at Beacon,” Saffron said. “Good school, some real oddball teachers. The history teacher I had was an absolute maniac.”

“I see,” Weiss said. 

Weiss was silent through the rest of the meal. 

* * *

After dinner concluded, the party moved from the dining room into one of the nearby parlors. 

Weiss made a beeline for Ironwood, weaving her way over to where he had stationed himself, drink in hand. As she approached, the man quirked an eyebrow. "Ah, the younger Miss Schnee. How wonderful to see you."

"Good evening, General. What brings you here tonight?"

"An invitation from your father, obviously," Ironwood said with a well-practiced smile. "Well, actually, given the merger with Scaramanga, your father wishes to renegotiate the SDC's deal with us. The invitation is, in effect, his warning shot. And, as my guest, I brought along a ‘fresh-faced recruit.’ This is Colonel Hans Lambert; as part of his duties, I've asked him to help maintain positive relations with the Schnee family."

Weiss understood the second meaning behind the guest: Ironwood wanted Jacques to know that he didn't  _ have _ to attend these gatherings. 

The Colonel extended his hand for a handshake. Weiss accepted it. 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said. He had a slight accent that indicated he originated from one of the mountainous villages under Atlas's protection. 

"And yours as well," Weiss responded. She looked back at Ironwood. "Is my sister in good health?"

"As well as can be, with the recent Grimm activity," Ironwood said, his smile loosening. He retightened it and restarted. "But I'm happy to say she's well, Miss Schnee, and she wishes you good health as you mature into a fine young woman."

"That's good," Weiss said. "Anything else?"

Ironwood quirked an eyebrow and lowered his voice. "What she said next I'm not at liberty to say here in your father's manor. If you were to, say,  _ step outside, _ however..."

"I see," Weiss said. "Give Winter my best, if you would. And Colonel, it was a pleasure to meet you. Farewell."

"Have a good evening," Ironwood replied.

Weiss turned away and began to walk through the party. 

Winter wanted her to leave. 

It wasn't shocking. Winter had negotiated her way with her father to get into Atlas Academy and had been transferred into officer training at the earliest opportunity. She'd seemed happier, the few times the two sisters had seen each other in the years before Winter had been informally excommunicated from the family.

Jacques, on the other hand, wanted her to attend university, learn business, and inevitably take over the SDC.

Which path should she take? 

"Excuse me, Miss Schnee?"

Sol Scaramanga had snuck up behind her. Weiss yelped and spun around. 

"Pardon me. I'm afraid I snuck around quite a bit as a youth, and the oldest habits are the hardest to kill," Sol said with a smile. 

Weiss looked up at the man. "Sorry, you just startled me. I was thinking. Did you need something?"

"Not exactly. I merely had a gift that I wished to present before I departed." Weiss looked down at what he was carrying. It was a simple yet old-looking metal case over a meter long. He held it out for her to open. She did. 

Inside, tucked in lovely velvet lining, was a sword. It was a thin sword with an ornate handguard and a single-fire dust chamber. It had been well-used but maintained very, very well. 

"A rapier," Weiss said, gently touching the hilt. "May I?"

"Of course," Sol said. 

It was heavier than she expected, but Weiss held aloft the thin sword. Actually, with it in hand, she realized that it was expertly balanced.

"I had this sword made for me some years ago; it was during the war, I believe. I had heard that you were interested in fencing, so I thought you would get better use out of it than I."

"I mean, I am, but why not present a gift to my father?"

Sol smiled. "It seemed to me as if you needed it more than him."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps," she said, setting the sword back in its resting place. She shut the case and re-fastened the latches. Sol turned it over so the carrying handle was facing her and she took it in her hand. "Does it have a name?"

"Its name is Siegfried," Sol said. 

Weiss nodded. "Thank you very much, Mister Scaramanga."

She strode out through the door and walked back to her room, deep in thought.

Weiss didn’t believe in the divine, necessarily, but there was a particular pattern to what had been asked of her by others, whether advertently or inadvertently. She had made up her mind.

Weiss Schnee would leave her home and become a Huntress. 

* * *

**In The Case of Blake Belladonna**

When you had to do something important, time existed in a fluctuating state of being incredibly quick and incredibly lengthy. This time, time had felt a lot quicker than usual. The hours of planning and studying and preparing had blown by until now Blake Belladonna was slumped against a toilet, her stomach churning. She hadn’t thrown up yet, exactly, and she was quickly losing the sense of near-inevitability to its occurrence that she had had when she’d stumbled into the bathroom. 

Today was the day.

Adam had selected this particular day after studying the patterns of regularly scheduled loads of Schnee Auto-Trains running from their largest Atlesian mine to their central processing facility in Atlas. During the last week of a given month, one of the trains would be the internally designated “phantom train” — the one that looked outwardly identical, yet was carrying all the high-value Dust crystals from the mines into the city. 

This was the day the White Fang — well, Adam’s faction of the Fang, to be specific — stole the Phantom Train out from underneath the Schnee.

It would also be the day Blake Belladonna left the White Fang. 

She tried one more time to empty her stomach into the bowl and then admitted defeat, rising to her feet and stumbling over to the sink, washing her face as best she could.

It was just before dawn. In ten minutes, she would be in the armory for last checks on weapons and equipment. 

In twenty, they would be driving out into the wilderness — specifically to the primary camp, out a few hours from the shanty town Adam was hiding in for CCT Network access as he planned the largest heist any branch of the White Fang had ever done. There the (improvised) ground crew had been tampering with the pair of Bullheads that Adam had acquired through some black market dealings. 

Adam would be in the first, his most trusted lieutenant — herself — would be in the second. 

She glared at her own reflection as she adjusted the straps of her khaki combat vest. With her fingers, she brushed back her hair into a rough ponytail and secured it with a hair tie. 

She was ready. 

* * *

Adam, a couple of his men, and Blake all took the second car. It was an old Atlesian military surplus vehicle, produced shortly after the Incursion. The military had sold the old cars as soon as the SDC had went in on a new line of vehicles that would meet the military’s needs with their new, hyper-efficient engines.

A few times, Blake had wondered if Adam felt sentimental about the car. They were kindred spirits, in a sense. Well, he didn’t seem to be particularly gentle with it. Right now, on the road they were on, she could almost feel his anger at the car. 

It wasn’t a bad car. It was old, and it was beat up, and it was basically being held together by duct tape. She could compare it to a lot of the White Fang members who followed Adam, to be frank, save that they were being held together with splints and bandages. 

“We’re here,” Adam said, pulling over roughly. “The first car should have arrived a half hour ago and the Bullheads should be ready for takeoff. Let’s move.”

“Right,” Blake said.

Her stomach hadn’t settled any during the drive. 

They trudged through the forest, which was barely emerging from winter, until they arrived at the White Fang camp. The man running the camp was a gruff older man and he quickly ushered the four toward the Bullheads. 

It wasn’t in Adam’s character to perform affectionate gestures for Blake. She was glad, as it would have broken her mask for his hand to even dare of brushing against her as they made their way to the staging area. 

They filed onto separate Bullheads. Blake sat between two White Fang soldiers. One of them slid the door closed. 

“We’re ready,” she called to the pilot, putting on her comms headset.

“Copy that,” the pilot said, flicking a few switches. “This is Claw One, ready.”

They took off. 

Blake sat there in silence, her assault rifle laid across her lap. 

“Miss, uh, Lieutenant Belladonna?” one of the soldiers asked. 

“Hm?”

“Do you think this is really going to work?”

Blake blinked. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” she said after a moment. 

“I just think it’s a bit of a wild plan,” the soldier said. 

They spent the rest of the flight in silence. 

“We’re approaching the train,” the pilot said. “There it is, right on schedule.”

The Bullhead’s door opened to reveal the craggy face of a mountain and the cargo train running around it on its way to Atlas. This was the Schnee Auto-Train, designed to be a completely automated cargo train system. So far this was the only one, but the SDC was looking to implement them as a system for most of their major mines. 

**Claw One:** “Claw Two, do you copy?”

**Claw Two:** “We copy, Claw One.”

**Claw One:** “I’m making my descent. I’m going to try and match the train’s speed.”

**Claw Two:** “Roger that, Claw One. We’ll stay out here and cover you.”

The Bullhead lurched as it slowed and descended towards the center of the train. Blake leaned out the door, examining the cars carefully. 

**Belladonna:** “Bring us one car further up; this one’s got a blue stripe — that’s low-value Dust for fuel. The next one up should be red, that’s the one we want.”

**Claw One:** “Moving up.” 

**Taurus:** “Good eye. Claw Two, move us further up the train. Dov, get eyes on our target, look for that red stripe.”

Claw One accelerated up to the next car with the red stripe. Claw Two rocketed past, settling around several cars ahead.

Blake leapt out, followed by three of the White Fang. 

“You two, get down and start working on those couplers,” she barked out, gesturing. “You and I are gonna tie this car up.”

Two of them moved down to the train’s couplers. 

**Belladonna:** “Claw One, lower tow cables.”

**Claw One:** “Copy that, lowering tow cables.”

**Claw Two:** “Claw One, stay ready. We’re right ahead of you.”

The key “weakness” of Schnee Auto-Train freight cars was that they also happened to function as rudimentary storage units and were designed to be lifted by large cranes. 

Of course, cranes weren’t the only things capable of lifting a traincar. With the right cables and framework, a Bullhead could do it just as well. The heist hinged around this detail.

Blake secured the first cable while her counterpart secured the second cable. As they finished the first set, there was a great grinding noise and the back cars decoupled. 

**Taurus:** “All units, looks like we tripped up the security systems. We’ve got Spider Droids coming in from the front of the train. We’re gonna need some cover fire.”

Blake looked up the train, where Adam was firing into a pack of Spiders quickly moving down the train. 

Blake ran over to the decouplers, helping the pair up onto the top of the car. “You two take over here. Get the car secure for transport and then decouple it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Save Adam’s ass, as usual,” Blake said, swinging her rifle up from its sling. 

“We’ve got it here,” one of them said, sliding down to decouple the car. “Go, hurry!”

Blake ran, leaping from car to car until she was almost caught up. 

She knew that this was her only chance. She flicked her rifle’s safety off and let off a burst into a smaller Spider. 

Adam’s head whirled around “Who—”

“Get down,” Blake shouted as one of the Spiders let out a high-power laser-type blast. Adam narrowly dodged it by falling prone. 

Blake leapt onto his car and lifted him back onto his feet.

“They got ‘em,” Adam said. He gestured to the perforated corpse slumped against the half-taut cable. 

**Claw One:** “Coming around for cover fire.”

The Bullhead, its new cargo in tow, swung around with its guns blazing, tearing a gash through the Spider Droids. 

“Now’s our chance. I’ll get the back coupling,” Blake said, slinking backwards and down to the coupling. She could hear Adam scramble towards the front of the train, taking an opposite position. 

This next part would be the worst. 

Blake stepped from the target car to the back car that would shortly be decoupled from the train. She steeled herself. 

**Belladonna:** “Ready?”

**Taurus:** “Ready.”

**Belladonna:** “On three. One — two — three!”

The traincar was loose. 

Blake projected an image of herself onto the opposite car. Her real self slunk into the shadows of the doorframe. 

Adam had rushed over to the illusion. With a thought, the false Blake looked up at him. He extended out a hand. 

He said something. Over the winds and the engines, the real Blake couldn’t hear it. Was it “Good work”? Was it “Thank you”? Or was it “I love you”?

She would never know. 

The tow cables pulled taut and the traincar shook, finally free of the tracks. 

The false Blake stumbled on her precarious perch. She looked up at Adam in horror before slipping, tumbling down into the forest below. 

The real Blake could barely hear Adam’s anguished scream as the Bullheads pulled away. 

* * *

**In The Case of Yang Xiao Long**

Yang Xiao Long stood before the entrance to Junior Xiong’s dance club. Well, she was standing across the street, actually. But the wind was whipping about the street in a dramatic enough fashion. 

The word on the street was that all information there was to know in Vale inevitably passed through Junior or one of his various lieutenants. This didn’t make him the largest crime boss in the city, but this made him invaluable to all of them. It was rumored that even Huntsmen — well, those of a particular sort — went to him for intelligence.

Really, nothing Xiong  _ actually _ did was illegal. He ran a profitable dance club almost completely above board. All his lieutenants were, legally, his employees, and he was paying them for their services as bartenders and waitresses and techies. During the middle of the week (like tonight) he liked to hire up-and-coming DJs and unknown musical acts. He donated considerably to various charities and almost all of them  _ weren’t  _ scams or money laundering fronts. 

Yang gritted her teeth. She didn’t have to like what she was going to have to do tonight. 

She strode across the street and into the club. 

It was, actually, something of a humble mid-city dance club. It wasn’t necessarily extravagant in its design, likely deliberately to make it feel warmer, and Yang could tell it was large enough to turn a profit but small enough to still feel like you were in a scene that could be considered “underground”. The walls were a cozy red that reminded Yang of the basement of a sitcom house. 

She hung out for a while. The DJ was pretty decent and there were a few people on the floor dancing. Yang ordered a drink without booze from the bar and the man manning it gave her a funny look but he still accepted her cash and gave her the drink. She chose a spot along the side of the room to nurse her drink and wait for Junior to emerge from the VIP room (denoted by the small door and the large man in sunglasses standing beside it). 

Yang’s hands went into the pockets of her jacket and found the gloves she’d bought. They weren’t really on the caliber of brass knuckles, but they were leather and they had three studs across the knuckles. She carefully put them on. 

The VIP door opened. The man himself, Junior Xiong, emerged, flanked by a pair of girls — probably the Malachite twins from what Yang remembered. He nodded subtly and they flitted off, moving about the room. Junior himself moved over for the bar. 

Yang finished her drink and made a beeline for the bar. It wasn’t so busy, so she sat beside Junior, who was chatting with the bartender. After a moment, the bartender was called away to the far side of the bar. 

Yang nudged the man’s arm with her elbow. “You’re Junior, right?”

“You’re a little young to know my name,” Junior said. 

“You’re a little old to be named ‘Junior’,” Yang shot back. She flipped open her Scroll and flicked over to a picture. She showed it to him. “Do you know this woman?”

Junior glanced at it for a half second and looked up at her. “No.” He turned away slightly. 

Yang grabbed his collar with her free hand and turned him back. “You’re sure?”

“I don’t know who you are or why you think you can come into my club and make demands of me,” Junior began, “but even if you weren’t manhandling me, I still wouldn’t know who that woman was.”

Yang huffed. “Fine.” She let go. 

Junior stood up, rolling his eyes, and began to walk away through the dance floor. 

Yang, naturally, followed.

“You’re really sure you don’t know who she is?”

Junior stopped amidst the dancers and turned, flipping open a pair of sunglasses in his hand. 

“Listen, blondie.” He put his glasses on. “Again, you’re in no position to ask questions. I don’t owe you, you’re not paying me — we’ve never even met. You don’t exactly have me by the balls here.”

Yang’s eyebrows flicked up suggestively. She put on the most sultry voice she could muster. “And if I did...have you by the balls?”

Junior looked appalled. “For one, I’m seeing someone, and for two, how old are you?!”

Plan B it was. 

Yang’s gloved fist reared back and she hit Junior with a sucker punch. 

Junior staggered backwards into a couple of dancers. The crowd shuffled into a clear circle. 

“Dick move,” Junior said. “Do you think this is a game or something?”

Junior’s staff began to filter in through the edge of the crowd and into the circle. 

Yang took a low boxer’s stance, glancing back and forth at the bouncers surrounding her. 

Junior rose to his feet, his men walling him off from her. “Give it up, blondie, before we call the police.” 

Her approach would be simple — methodical destruction starting with the immediate targets before her and, subsequently, the ones who approached. 

“No thanks,” she said, smirking and going in for her first target with a wild right hook. 

* * *

Yang stumbled out over the cold asphalt in the alley behind Junior’s club. . 

“You know, I really don’t know who that woman was,” Junior said, stepping out from behind the bouncers who had just thrown her out. “And you really are lucky that I’m not banning you from the club.”

“That’s great,” Yang said sarcastically. 

“You can take that tone with me,” Junior said, “but I mean, you did proposition me for sex and then punch me in the face.” He rubbed his jaw, where a bruise under his beard was beginning to form. “You  _ do  _ throw a mean haymaker. And you've got attitude, kid. I like that. Maybe, y’know, in a couple years, if you’re hunting for a job in the area..."

Yang huffed. 

“Who was the woman you were looking for, anyway?”

“That’s a secret,” Yang said. 

“Well,” Junior said. “Nobody in Vale fits that description.” He looked at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got tomorrow’s paperwork to get through.”

Yang sighed and began to walk out of the alley. 

* * *

Yang's rib cage was still aching as she arrived at the ferry's pier with a paper bag full of shredded chicken tacos and packets of hot sauce. Judging by the timetable, it looked like the last ferry would come back in about seven minutes and depart about ten minutes after that. 

She forked over the lien for a ticket and sat on a bench. She pulled a taco out and began eating it. 

It wasn't a total waste, Yang considered. Junior didn’t know her, so she probably wasn’t in Vale. Really, that wasn’t unexpected in hindsight. She could be living in one of the other Kingdoms, or even one of the hundreds of smaller towns and villages around them. She could be a hermit — there were so many uncharted settlements...

Yang sighed and crumpled the now-empty paper wrapper in a ball. It wasn’t a loss, but it wasn’t a success, either. She had really wanted to find her birth mother, or at least, like, a solid clue before term began at Beacon and that was looking like an impossible prospect barring a miracle. 

The second taco she doused with hot sauce. She finished it by the time the ferry arrived. She dumped her trash in a nearby can and stepped aboard. 

"Last ferry to Patch, all aboard," the captain called out to the only passenger. He rolled his eyes and shoved off, heading for the small island in the distance. 

Yang folded her arms and looked out across the water toward the cliff on the far side of Vale where Beacon Academy rested. 

She exhaled. 

Soon. 


	2. Shine

It was far too warm for this early in spring; far too warm and far too humid, even for an island. Ruby had dressed in a hoodie and a long-sleeved shirt, but she was rethinking her decision.

Yang had donned her sunglasses; her face was inscrutable. She was sitting atop Ruby's trunk, hand on her sleek yellow suitcase. She hadn't said much this morning, although that might have been a symptom of staying up too late packing the night before and ending up with too little sleep.

Ruby sighed and looked around the tarmac of Patch's tiny airfield. There weren't many people transferring to Beacon after a year at Signal, it seemed. Yang  _ had _ complained that most of her friends from Signal were either going to Atlas or Haven. Ruby didn't point out that she wouldn't know anyone aside from Yang at Beacon.

She looked up as the nearby trees rustled with birds taking flight. She looked towards the mainland and sure enough, the transport was visible now, coming in for a gentle landing. 

Yang stood and pulled her suitcase up beside her as the transport came in for its landing. Her hair whipped about in the wind and exhausts.

Ruby lifted her trunk and followed Yang towards the transport. They displayed their tickets for the conductor.

"Mhm," the conductor said. "Set your luggage aside, we'll store it in the hold."

Ruby stepped aboard, leaving her trunk behind but keeping her messenger bag with her. 

The transport wasn't empty, but it wasn't packed. Yang had already chosen a row and stolen the window seat. Ruby slid into the seat next to her. 

The girl in front of them poked her head above her headrest. "Yo, Yang, what’s up, girl?"

"Not much, not much," Yang said coolly. “Have you been watching that one show? The one Mistralian one? I know you're into that weird shit.”

“You’re talking about, oh, I can’t remember the name...”

Ruby slumped back in her seat and reached into her bag for her portable game system, a long outdated model using chunky plastic cartridges for games. She fished it out and set it on her lap before diving back in for her headphones and games. She rifled through the stack; a shorter trip like this meant a quicker, action-based title. She picked a fantasy action game out, dumped the rest in her bag, plugged the cart in, jammed the headphone jack into the port, cranked the volume, and was fully immersed by the time the transport took off. 

As soon as they reached cruising altitude, the girl from the row in front of them moved back one to sit beside Ruby. She and Yang chatted over top Ruby's slouched form. 

It was a short trip; Ruby had made her way through most of the second dungeon by the time the chimes sounded and the pilot declared their final descent into Beacon's heliport. She saved her progress and flicked the console off, stowing it in her bag. 

The descent into Beacon airspace was fairly turbulent, although ultimately uneventful. 

They disembarked slowly, their luggage ferried out by the ground crew in the direction of the first year dorms. Yang and her friend meandered off through the thickening crowd. Ruby didn't feel like following them. She checked her scroll. 

According to the schedule, they were to convene in the main auditorium for the welcoming speech and then break off into groups for a guided tour of Beacon before breaking for lunch. Then they would come back to the main plaza where the team assignments would be posted, which Ruby was very pointedly trying not to think about. 

She stopped a moment to slide her headphones back over her ears and fire up her scroll’s music player. 

Satisfied, she trudged onwards with the ever-growing stream of people filing towards the main hall.

* * *

The auditorium was slightly more modern than the one at Ruby's school had been, although they could probably be considered contemporaries for all the similarities they shared -- especially how stiff and uncomfortable the seats were. 

The seating was at, generously, a third of its capacity, although it was probably closer to a quarter. Ruby had found a seat somewhere towards the back of the assembly and was perusing her media feeds when Ozpin stepped up on stage and cleared his throat. 

The chattering crowd quieted and he began to speak:

"We all have a long day ahead of us, so I'll try and keep this brief, for  _ all _ of our sakes." 

There was some slight laughter from the crowd. 

"Welcome to Beacon Academy. From this day on, every one of you takes on the mantle of Huntsman, a title whose history stretches to the earliest days of humanity. In those days, warriors with simple spears and slings warded off the beasts of Grimm.”

Ozpin adjusted his glasses awkwardly up on the stage. 

"You may think, living with the amenities of a world that has seemingly surpassed those crude weapons, that there is no need for the guardians of years past. But make no mistake: mankind  _ does _ need warriors such as you. And it is our job to train you, no, to  _ hone _ you into those guardians. 

"In time, each and every one of you will become, if you'll pardon the pun, a beacon, all by yourselves. You will embody justice for those whose hearts sway between righteousness and evil. You will embody courage, for those who live in fear. And you will embody hope for  _ all."  _

There was a solid round of applause. It died down. 

"Now, I believe our Deputy Headmistress Goodwitch has a few words," Ozpin said with a smile as a stern woman strode across the stage toward the podium. He stepped aside for her to begin her own speech. 

She took the mic from him. "Before the year begins, I'd like to review some of the policies that our faculty are often asked about..."

* * *

Ruby lagged slightly behind the tour group as their upperclassman guide (a nervous wreck of a Faunus with rabbit ears) discussed the buildings they were passing from the set of flashcards she was holding discreetly.

"Beacon's layout is actually quite simple," she said flatly and loudly. "There are three rings around the central building. The inner ring has six buildings with lecture halls and classrooms. The middle ring has sparring arenas, the forge, the library, and the commons. And the outer ring has the dorms."

They stopped abruptly. 

Their guide cleared her throat and looked up from the card she’d just flipped over. “You can see Vale’s CCT Tower from almost anywhere in Beacon, as it rises from the center building.” She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, not making eye contact with anyone. She grew slightly more quiet. “If you, uh, don’t have family who live nearby, you become pretty familiar with the Tower...” 

Ruby stood, absent-mindedly looking at the tower as the rest of the group walked away. 

“Hey,” a older-looking girl with thick, wavy black hair called out to her from the back of the pack. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “Just fine.” She ran along the path a little bit and caught up with the group as they stopped in front of the library.

The other girl looked at her with a cocked head and a neutral expression before turning her eyes back to the guide. 

“You’re a bit young looking,” the black-haired girl said quietly, glancing to Ruby.

(The thing left unsaid — the usual followup, to Ruby’s mind — was: “You must be some sort of prodigy.”)

“I suppose,” Ruby said, trying to deflect. “I’m not that much younger, I just didn’t attend a prep school.”

“I didn’t go to one either,” the girl admitted, adjusting the large bow atop her head. 

There was a silence between them and then the group began to move again. 

"Where are you from?" Ruby asked. 

"M...Mistral," the other girl said. "Yourself?"

"Patch."

The other girl nodded. “That’s...you would have gone to Signal, right?”

“Yep. My sister did. She’s, uh, kind of miffed that I made it without studying when she put in so much work, but she doesn’t say it,” Ruby admitted sheepishly. 

"I see," the other girl said. 

They turned back to the guide and followed the group for a bit. 

"My name's Blake, by the way" the other girl said after a few moments. 

"Huh? Oh! I'm Ruby." Ruby gathered her energy. "It's nice to meet you."

Blake gave a small smile back. "It's nice to meet you, too."

* * *

The incoming freshmen were given a free lunch at the Commons, which also served as a mess hall. 

Blake had evidently sensed Ruby's trepidation and invited her to sit together, although neither were really talking all that much. Both girls had finished their sandwiches fairly quickly. Ruby had quickly blitzed through the rest of her meal to get to the plastic-wrapped cookie and had asked Blake if she was going to eat her own. 

Blake looked at the cookie, grimaced at it, and slid it over. She was currently eating her chips at a moderate rate while reading through a small paperback novel. 

Ruby glanced over at where Yang was sat amidst a mess of all her friends, two tables having been slammed haphazardly together to fit them all. They were being loud and rambunctious and Yang was probably about to start roughhousing in a scant few moments from the look of it. 

"That your sister?" Blake asked, following her gaze. "Blonde one in the biker jacket?"

"Yep," Ruby said. "That's her. She's popular, or whatever."

Blake let out a small hum, looking back at her novel. She gently set a bookmark in it and stood up, grabbing the disparate waste of her lunch. "We should head back to the main auditorium."

"Yeah, yeah," Ruby said, standing. 

The pair of them left the noisy mess hall and began to meander down the wide path leading to the central building. 

There was a monolithic bulletin board in front of the entrance to the building. When Ruby had passed it earlier, it had been completely blank, but now about two dozen sheets of paper had been tacked onto it to create lists — team assignments. 

A small crowd had already formed around it. Ruby wormed her way into the mix, Blake just behind her. 

"Right," Ruby said, scanning the lists left to right. They'd been alphabetically listed by team name. 

She'd gotten to the "H"'s when Blake lightly tapped her on the arm, pulling her attention to the team Blake was looking at. 

**TEAM RWBY**

**Dorm 3 Room 207**

**Ruby Rose (TL)**

**Weiss Schnee**

**Blake Kurosawa**

**Yang Xiao Long**

"Oh," Ruby said. She looked over. Blake was staring very intently at the list, her gaze sharp. Ruby cleared her throat. "What's 'TL' mean?"

Blake looked over, her stare no longer intense. "Team Leader," she supplied over the chatter. 

Ruby nodded, processed it, and then looked back at Blake. "Wait, what?"

"Team Leader," Blake supplied, a little louder.

Ruby stepped away, back out of the crowd, pulling Blake with her. They broke through the small crowd and Ruby exhaled. 

"Hold on," Ruby said. "Are you telling me that they put me as team leader?"

"Uh, yes," Blake said flatly. 

“I’m fifteen,” Ruby said, beginning to pace. “I-I-I’m not responsible enough, for one. I collect action figures, and, and I build model kits. I stay at home on the weekends. To put it frankly, I’m not socially equipped for this.”

Blake shrugged. “I’m not, either.”

Ruby huffed. “My sister is the outgoing one! Why not her?”

“Maybe they’re not looking for outgoing people,” Blake said. 

“I’m just saying,” Ruby said. “How do they even decide these things, anyway?”

“Test scores?” Blake offered. 

Ruby paused in her pacing and ranting. “I can see that,” she considered. "Yang's not very studious. But that aside, what about...uh...what's-their-face?" 

"Weiss Schnee," Blake said cooly. 

"Yeah, them," Ruby said, throwing up her hands. "They could be leader!"

"I'd prefer you," Blake muttered. She cleared her throat. "Should we...?"

"Huh?"

"Go and find our dorm room," Blake said. "They should have already delivered our luggage."

"We could. Is there anything else on the schedule?"

"Not really," Blake said. "The rest of the day is free to unpack and such. There's a couple more things tomorrow morning, then the weekend, then we start classes properly."

"Right," Ruby said. "Let's, uh, go?"

* * *

The outermost ring of Beacon were the dorms. There were twelve of them, and, looking at the map, Ruby was reminded of the old-style circular clock her mother had kept on her nightstand. 

The dorm door was propped open. They stepped from the sunny day into the cool inside of the doom.

"Oh," Blake said. "Air conditioned."

It took a second for their eyes to adjust to the interior lighting. 

"We're on the second floor," Ruby said, gesturing to the stairs. They ascended, Ruby trailing a step or two behind Blake. 

"Three," Ruby said, glancing at the room numbers. "Five. Seven. Here we are." They stopped.

After a second of silence between the two of them, Blake stepped forward and knocked. 

"Just a moment," a voice called out from the other side. Ruby could hear a slight Atlesian accent, even as muffled as it was. The door opened. A white-haired girl standing in the doorway levelled an imperious gaze at them. "How can I help you?" 

"We're your teammates," Blake said flatly. 

The girl looked down at Ruby and then up at Blake. 

"You must be Ruby Rose, the team leader," she said, still looking at Blake. 

"She is," Blake said, jabbing her thumb back at Ruby. 

"Ah. My apologies," the girl said, looking at Ruby properly. She hesitated. "I'm Weiss Schnee. I look forward to working with the two of you." She offered her hand to Blake, who brushed past her toward a particularly battered olive carryall. Weiss then turned to Ruby, hand still ready for a shake. 

Ruby shook Weiss's hand. "I'm Ruby, and that's Blake." 

They walked into the dorm room's landing, off which there were two bathrooms to the left and right. Proceeding further inwards, the dorm room had been divided in half lengthwise, each half holding two beds, dressers, and desks.

Weiss cleared her throat softly. "Have you met the fourth yet? This Yang Xiao Long?"

"Oh," Ruby said. "Well, yes. She's, uh, my sister."

"Hmm. I see," Weiss said, wandering over to the left half of the room where she had already begun unpacking her trio of suitcases. "I hope you don't mind that I've taken the liberty of claiming this dresser and desk."

"Not at all," Ruby said awkwardly. 

"Mhm." Weiss resumed unpacking. She began to hum softly to herself. 

Ruby walked over to the old red trunk labelled "Rose" in the entryway and began to drag it over to the unclaimed dresser in Blake's half of the room. She undid the lock and flipped it open.

Blake was dead silent in the midst of her own quick unpacking. Ruby watched her set a few battered paperbacks on top of her dresser before pushing the air out of the bag, zipping it up, and stuffing it under the bed beside it. She grabbed one of the paperbacks, slunk backwards onto the bed, and began to read silently from it.

“I was curious, Miss Rose,” Weiss began, still unpacking in the other half of the dorm room. “You look a trifle young. Did you skip a year or two?”

“I, uh, did,” Ruby said. “Last year of standardized schooling and the year I would have spent at Signal.”

“I see,” Weiss said. “You’re...fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” Ruby said. 

“I just find it very interesting that they would choose you as team leader,” Weiss said cooly. 

“Wasn’t my choice,” Ruby grumbled. 

Abruptly, the door slammed open. “Yo!” Yang said, stepping into the room. She looked about. “Looks like I’m the last one, huh?” 

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. 

“Hey, Yang,” Ruby said awkwardly. 

“Heya, sis,” Yang said. “I interrupt something?”

“Not really,” Weiss said, stepping out into the landing. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Weiss Schnee.” She held out her hand for a handshake.

Yang took her hand and shook it over-enthusiastically. “And I'm Yang! Good to meet ya too!” She headed toward Blake. "And you are?"

Blake paused. Her finger slid underneath the next page of her paperback. “Blake."

“Well, Blake, I'm Yang! It’s good to meet you!”

Blake turned the page and continued reading. After a moment, she responded, “It’s good to meet you too.” Her tone did not suggest she was even half as enthused as Yang was. 

Yang's eyebrows rose and she looked over to Ruby. 

Ruby shrugged at her big sister.

"So you've chosen to share your room with some dark, brooding stranger, rather than your own sister, huh?" Yang teased. 

Ruby shrugged again. 

"I don't mind," Yang said, walking over and tossing her jacket on the unclaimed bed. "But, man, it's too hot! I thought they said it was gonna be chilly for a few more weeks."

Ruby wandered back to her own unpacking, finally reaching her carefully packed box of figures and model kits. She extracted each from the paper that held it, examined them for damage, and carefully set each atop her desk. 

"Gah!" Weiss shrieked. 

"What's wrong?" Yang asked. 

Over in her bed, Blake silently drew her legs slightly closer to her body. 

"I-I just wasn't expecting you to be topless!"

"Aw, come on, we're both girls," Yang said. "Besides, bras always make me sweat like a motherfucker."

Ruby fished the last model kit, the starfighter from her favorite movie, from the box. She reattached the wings and set them in attack position before setting it on its stand. 

"There. I'm in a tank top. Are you happy?"

"Yes," Weiss said, obviously still flustered.

* * *

By the time Yang and Weiss had finished unpacking, Ruby had laid out on her bed and begun playing her handheld game again. 

“Yo,” Yang said, standing in the pseudo-doorway of Ruby and Blake’s half-room. “How’re things in here?”

“Fine,” Ruby said, eyes focused on her game. 

Yang sat down at Ruby's desk. “You’re both already done?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, flicking her game off. “Aside from the posters, that is. But those can go up later.”

“So." Weiss walked in. "I thought it might be productive if we all sat down and introduced ourselves properly to break the ice. We're going to be working together for the next three years, after all." She cleared her throat. "Hello, I'm--"

"Weiss Schnee, heiress apparent to the Schnee Dust Company, a monopolistic energy supplier based out of Atlas," Blake said, not looking up from her book. 

"That is...correct," Weiss said, a little bit ashamed. "Yes, the SDC does currently hold a majority of Dust mines and processing plants, and yes, it is highly likely I will run the company when my father retires. I'd hoped that we could get to know each other without that as an obstacle, however. As I was going to say: Hello, I'm Weiss Schnee. I enjoy listening to music. I look forward to working with you all." Weiss looked over at Yang. 

Yang realized Weiss and Ruby were staring at her. "Oh, me? I'm Yang. I like working on cars and motorcycles and such. I've been working on this sweet hog at home. Almost had her running before I shipped up here, too." She grinned. "It's nice to meet y'all."

Ruby cleared her throat. "I'm Ruby. Uh, I like watching movies, and Mistralian cartoons, and playing games, and such." She gave her best smile.

There was a moment of silence, then: 

"I'm Blake. I like reading." 

Silence again.

Weiss cleared her throat. "Tell me about your motorcycle, Yang."

"Oh, this baby's a reaaal beauty, trust me. Well, she will be, once I finish the restoration job. Bought her cheap 'cause it didn't start, but the engine was in pretty good shape for a vintage. All it needs now is a starter, but that got held up in Atlesian customs for like a week and a half and it just barely cleared a couple days ago." 

"That's very interesting. Ruby, what sorts of games do you play?"

"Uh, every sort," Ruby said, getting back into her game. 

"You should see her collection," Yang said. "It's bonkers."

"Yeah," Ruby said sheepishly. "I mean, once you get locked into a serious collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. My movie collection isn't too shabby, either." 

"I see," Weiss said. She cleared her throat. "Blake, what book are you reading?"

Blake offered no response. Ruby looked at Weiss and shrugged. Weiss raised her eyebrows at Ruby and nodded at the door. 

They silently stood up and stepped out into the hall. Ruby shut the door behind her. 

Weiss cleared her throat softly. “Miss Rose—”

“Ruby is fine,” she said.

“Miss Ruby,” Weiss continued. “Would you happen to know why Miss Kurosawa seems to hold some sort of grudge against me?”

“I dunno,” Ruby said. “I don’t think she likes your company.”

“Understandable,” Weiss said regretfully. “My father has a way of destroying livelihoods over business. It’s unfortunate, but inevitable. As you’re aware, Atlas has yet to establish the trust busting or basic income laws of Mistral or Vale — and as long as the SDC lobbies against them, they will never pass.” She sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

“Hey,” Ruby said. “It’s not your fault, y’know? And I’m sure Blake will warm up to you.” 

Weiss folded her arms and looked away. “I hope so.”

Ruby's stomach growled. 

"Eh, heh, I guess I'm getting kind of hungry," Ruby said sheepishly, a blush spreading over her face. 

"I could eat, too," Weiss admitted. She glanced at her wristwatch. "They should be serving dinner soon."

* * *

The whole team went to dinner and back. The cafeteria was serving a thick sludge that they claimed was curry. There had been little conversation before, after, or during the meal. 

They’d returned to the dorm room and proceeded to individually occupy themselves in their own spaces. Ruby had punched through a few more dungeons in her game before sighing, setting it aside, and climbing under her covers.

Ruby flopped over to face the wall, as Blake’s lamp was still on. Although from the rustling of fabric, it sounded like Blake had realized that it was lights out. 

It wasn’t such a bad day, all things considered. 

Ruby didn’t know how to feel about being made team leader. The team was mostly fine. Well, except Blake, sort of.

But Blake was fine so long as she wasn’t in the same room as Weiss, but she was like a completely different person the instant she came into contact with Weiss. And it wasn’t like Weiss was overly mean — a bit prissy, maybe, but not enough to justify Blake’s behavior. 

Ruby pulled the covers tighter around her and shut her eyes. 

She could solve her problems later. 


	3. Academic Pinball

**Some Years Ago**

Ruby was laying on her bed, her legs spread out over the covers. The batteries in Mom's tape player were out, but she was still holding it. The thin, plastic headphones on her head were doing a poor job of drowning out the voices in the hall. 

"We need to tell them," the gruffer voice said. "It's been two weeks past her last scheduled contact."

"I don't—I just don't know, Qrow. Yang's not old enough to remember, but she lost a mother before. I just couldn't put her through that. Not right now."

"Look at them," Qrow’s voice hadn’t quite reached a yell, but it was ready. "Yang's staying with a friend, and, and Ruby's shut herself in her room. She  _ knows _ something's wrong. You have to give her a straight answer, Tai! Both of them! As their father!"

There was a thick sound not unlike a clap. Ruby flinched. She grabbed for a large stuffed animal and held it to her chest. 

A few moments passed. There was the sound of footsteps and doors being shut. Qrow sighed deeply in the silence afterwards.

Ruby’s door opened. Qrow Branwen was dressed in a rumpled black shirt. His eyes were tinged with red and he hadn't shaved for days, but his cheeks were unmarred by a slap. 

"Ruby," he said. He had the sound of a man who was trying to hold a strong face. "It's about your mother. We don't know what happened, but we're...not sure she's coming back. The...search and rescue teams are doing their best, but..."

Ruby nodded along as Qrow continued. At some point he did begin crying. She wasn't really listening. 

Very few of Summer's classmates or associates made it out to Patch for the wake, and she'd had little extended family to speak of. It was held at the house, which was only halfway up to the condition required for hosting any level of event. Qrow and Taiyang sulked in opposite corners nursing their own bottles whilst one of Summer's old Beacon classmates, a red haired woman in glasses, tended to Ruby and Yang. 

The funeral itself was a dismal affair. The priest had to tiptoe around Summer’s flagrant disregard for religion in her life. The eulogy was perfunctory, hitting all the requisite notes yet never quite coming together. There was nothing after that. 

It rained too much, which would have been more of a problem if they'd had anything to bury.

* * *

**Present Day**

Ruby woke up to the sound of her alarm clock. Her hand lazily reached out from under the covers and flicked it off. 

“I hate bad dreams,” she grumbled to herself, sitting upright and rubbing her eyes. 

In the bed across from her, Blake sat slightly hunched with her legs folded and her head resting in her hand. She was already fully dressed and ready, it seemed. There was the distinct sound of one of the showers running. 

Blake glanced over. "Good morning."

"Morning," Ruby said. "Am I the last one up?"

Blake nodded once. 

Ruby tossed off her sheets and shambled to her dresser. She plucked out a change of clothes from her dresser and shambled over to the other bathroom. 

Yang burst from the other door, hair and makeup immaculate. "Morning, sis! Are ya ready?"

"No, not really," Ruby grumbled. 

"Too bad! We've got classes today," Yang declared. 

Ruby groaned and retreated to the shower.

* * *

Despite Ruby's morning sluggishness, she quickly showered and dressed herself. 

As they had an hour before class, they all went down to the Commons for breakfast. It was overcast but the air was too dry for rain. 

The Commons weren't as crowded as they'd been at lunch or dinner, and there was only a short line for food. Today it was scrambled egg substitute and artificial bacon with a slice of toast. It was tasty and filling, although the eggs were undersalted. Ruby applied ketchup liberally to hers. 

Yang leaned back and pushed her completely clean tray away. “Good shit,” she said. “So what’s the first class today?”

“History,” Weiss said. “Then Weapons, lunch break, and Grimm Studies after that.”

“What about the fourth class?” Ruby asked, pulling out her scroll to recheck her schedule. 

“Free period for us,” Weiss said. She carefully cut off a bite of egg and ate it. 

“Oh,” Ruby said, looking at her own schedule. “I have Leadership Class. Just for me. Oh boy.”

“Yep,” Yang said. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm actually quite excited to get my feet wet," Weiss said, still eating. "I've already begun looking at the theory and coursework, but Grimm Studies and Weapons are both very hands-on, according to the course descriptions."

"Oh hell yeah," Yang said, going for a fist bump. Weiss awkwardly reciprocated. 

Weiss looked over at the silent black haired girl sitting opposite her. "What about you, Blake?"

Upon hearing her name, Blake jumped in her seat and looked around, startled. 

"You, uh, alright there?" Ruby asked. 

"I need coffee," Blake said abruptly, rising and heading back toward the counter. “Or tea. Or anything.”

* * *

Ruby settled into her seat for History between Blake and Weiss. 

The lecture hall that the class had been scheduled in was thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee; looking down from her seat, it seemed as if the professor had brought in half an espresso bar’s equipment and set it on his desk. There were at least a dozen mugs and paper cups strewn on and around his desk. 

The door at the bottom of the hall swung open abruptly and a dishevelled man with a loose yellow tie and wild green hair stepped into the hall. He was holding a mug — putting two and two together, it seemed as if this was their professor. He downed the rest of his current drink and began poking around his desk for any mug that had more coffee in it. He picked one up and, with trembling hands, raised it to his lips. 

He drank the whole thing at once, slammed the mug back on his desk and spun around to face the class. 

“Welcome to History Class — I am Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck, I will be your instructor for the next year as we delve into the intricacies of modern history — politics — war — culture — the whole works, if you will!” 

He produced a stack of papers from his desk and hurriedly began passing them out. 

“These are hard copies of your syllabus; I’ve also sent digital copies to your student inboxes. As you can see, this class focuses on contemporary history — defined as beginning with the Great War at the turn of the century through today. As you can imagine, we will have class units covering each major event slash era — The Great War, Reconstruction, the Faunus Rights Movement, the Incursion and formation of the Hunters’ Guild, now known as the Hunters’ Alliance, and the modern day.” 

He finished passing out the papers and jogged back to the front of the room.

“You might be wondering: why study history? The Hunters’ Alliance was specifically founded as a non-governmental organization, and as such Hunters are meant to lack political or military ties — before you ask, Atlas’s merging of their Huntsmen and military is recent and there  _ has _ been much strife over it but this is something we’ll consider much, much later. So. Why study history?” He looked around. 

He shook his head disappointedly before circling his desk, on the prowl for another cup. “Still waking up, I see. Well, I will tell you why. History lives and breathes around us. The Great War’s resolution resulted in the formation of the four modern kingdoms from the seven of the pre-War world. The Faunus Rights Movement resulted in this integrated classroom. The Incursion — now, the Incursion is why this Academy exists in the first place. And you don’t get the Faunus Rights Movement or the formation of the Alliance without the Great War and you don’t get the Great War without studying even further—ah-ha!” 

He plucked a paper cup off the desk and drank deeply. It seemed like it didn’t take, as he immediately spit most of it back into the cup. “Cold! Damn cold!” He righted himself and adjusted his tie, looking around. 

“Uh, sir, are you okay?” someone in the middle of the class asked.

“No, I don’t have a problem!” Oobleck retorted on instinct.

* * *

"Hello. I'd like to welcome you all to Weapons Class," Glynda Goodwitch said. "Before you make any smart remarks, yes, it is a very uncreative name. I've left a copy of the syllabus on each of your desks to serve as a guide as we go over the purpose of this class. Feel free to follow along.”

The was the semi-unified rustling of papers as the class picked up the paper on their desk. 

Ruby fidgeted in her seat, picking up the syllabus. Her eyes flicked from line to line, skimming the entire thing quickly. She flipped it over and read the back. 

"Right. Let's get right into this," Professor Goodwitch said. "The purpose of this class is to educate you on weapons. As you know, nearly every registered Huntsman carries at least one weapon, and many Huntsmen design and even forge their own weapons. In this class we will discuss weapon types, including advantages and disadvantages to each, along with basic maintenance for most weapon types. The types of weapons we will cover are listed on the syllabus. You will notice we are not limiting ourselves to melee — we will also discuss rifles, pistols, and various automatic weapons toward the end of the semester. Any questions so far?”

Ruby slumped in her seat, holding the paper as if to show she was still seemingly reading it. 

Goodwitch paused, looked up, and adjusted her glasses. "If there are no questions so far, I'll continue. As I was saying, you'll find a breakdown of the units in the order we'll cover them. Each unit will involve lectures and classroom discussion before practical demonstration. We will discuss how best to use these weapons and how best to deal with their users when you face them on the battlefield. The objective of this class is for you to decide on a weapon for the duration of your time at this Academy, and potentially your career as a Huntsman."

Ruby looked at the longsword tucked into her bag. 

Her mother's weapon — to be more specific, her mother's backup weapon. The spare sword she left behind. 

Summer Rose, her white cloak billowing in the wind, longsword in hand — the perfect Huntress.

At the front of the classroom, Glynda Goodwitch continued, but the rest of the lecture washed over Ruby.

* * *

Ruby was still thinking about her mother’s castoff sword as they made their way back toward the Commons for lunch. 

It had warmed considerably since the morning. Ruby unzipped her hoodie before she began to sweat. 

“I mean, I guess I see the point of taking History class,” Yang was saying. “I just don’t see the  _ point _ in taking History. We already went through this in public school, y’know? And it’s not like we’re going into academia, here.”

“Understanding history is vital to understanding the modern world,” Weiss said plainly. “And those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Blake, back me up on this,” Yang said.

"Schnee is absolutely right,” Blake replied after a moment.

“I thought you were my wingman, man,” Yang said. “Ruby, please?”

“I actually didn’t take Contemporary History back in Patch,” Ruby said. “That would have been next year. So this class is kind of important to me, I guess?"

Weiss nodded in smug satisfaction. 

"Ah, whatever," Yang said. "Y'all are wack."

* * *

The hall for Grimm Studies was a fair bit larger than Ruby was expecting from the last couple, but the size discrepancy appeared to be tied to the fact that the bottom of the hall was considerably larger — and there was a large chained-down cage with a tarp over it.

“What in the ass,” Yang muttered as she walked to a row of empty seats. “Are you seeing this?”

“Indeed,” Weiss said. 

“Signal didn’t bring in Grimm,” Yang said excitedly. 

"Presumably it's just for show," Weiss responded. 

To the side, Blake raised her eyebrows and took her seat. 

The chatter in the classroom died down as the professor strode in. He was a heavy-set man with gray hair and an oversized curly mustache. 

"Good afternoon," he said pompously. "I am Professor Peter Port, famed slayer of beasts and demons, but you can call me...Professor! Ha-ha, yes, I am your Grimm Studies teacher!"

He paused as if for applause. 

Yang leaned over to Ruby and muttered, "This guy's kinda full of himself, huh?"

Ruby nodded slowly. 

"As you know, the threat of Grimm attack is an ever-present danger to even the most well-guarded cities and towns. But to us, they are the prey! In this class, I'll show you how best to wrangle a Grimm, the same way my grandfather taught me! Like this one right here!” 

Port slapped the corner of the cage. There was a guttural sound.

The class was dead silent in shock. 

Professor Port seemed to not notice. “Who would like to volunteer?”

Almost everyone froze, with one exception: Yang eagerly raised her hand. 

“Ahhh, a true Huntsman,” Port declared. “Er, Huntress. Step right up.”

Yang practically leapt out of her seat. 

Port clapped her on the shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Yang Xiao Long.”

Port stepped over to a large stained wooden cabinet to the side of the classroom and threw it open to reveal a couple dozen melee weapons of all sorts, all made of polished steel. 

“Aye, what speaks to you?”

“I was top of my class in hand-to-hand back at Signal,” Yang declared confidently. 

“Ah! Mano-a-mano. I would recommend the greaves, then,” Port said, plucking a pair of steel greaves from the cabinet. He dropped them unceremoniously into Yang’s arms. 

“The first thing my grandfather told me to remember when facing a Grimm is to quash your fears!” Port boasted. “Younger and individual Grimm pose little threat alone, but your fear will attract more.”

“Is that really relevant?” Yang asked, sliding the greaves onto her arms. “Not much chance of reinforcements in a classroom setting.”

“Not in this scenario, no,” Port admitted. “That’s where the second thing my grandfather told me comes in — aim for the unarmored spots, or break the armor, if you must! Grimm develop armor as they age. The Grimm in this cage is a Beowolf I personally captured in the Emerald Forest. Now, when I show it, observe the lack of armor around its chest. This means it’s but a scant year old, perhaps less.”

“Not totally true,” Ruby whispered to the rest of her teammates. “Grimm develop armor where they’ve been injured, actually. It’s a self-defense mechanism.”

“Really?” Weiss whispered back. “How do you know?”

“My uncle was talking about it with my dad when he was over for dinner a few months ago,” Ruby responded.

Port pulled the tarp off the cage to reveal a snarling Beowolf — true to his word, it had very few telltale bone protrusions that indicated the relative age of a Grimm. 

“Now, Miss Xiao Long, I will open the cage, and you will engage! The Grimm, I mean. Should your Aura break or you become injured in any way, please call for help and I will provide.” Port reached back into the cabinet and produced what appeared to be a pre-War blunderbuss that had, at some point, had an axe head attached to the stock of the gun. 

“That is the stupidest gun I’ve ever seen,” Blake murmured. 

“It would be extremely dangerous to use it as an axe immediately after firing, even with the wooden grips,” Ruby pointed out. “You could easily burn your hand.”

“How does he aim?” Weiss asked. 

“It’s a blunderbuss, you don’t aim,” Ruby said.

“Merely give me the signal when you are ready, Miss Xiao Long,” Port said, his hand on the lock of the cage. 

“Oh I’m ready,” Yang said, cracking her knuckles and dropping into a fighting stance. 

The cage flew open. 

The Beowolf pounced immediately. 

Yang leapt sideways as its claws cut through the space she’d been standing. It went for a sideswipe; she ducked and slammed it in the center of its chest. It stumbled backwards and took a moment to regain its footing before charging a little more hesitantly than before.

“Sweep the leg,” Ruby yelled. 

Yang twisted her body and delivered a kick as the Beowolf approached. It stumbled and lost its footing, the momentum sending it tumbling past Yang as she stepped aside. 

“Now for the kill,” Port called out. 

Yang practically leapt atop the Beowolf before smashing it in the chest. It bellowed. She brought both of her hands up and smashed its head inwards. 

Deep red, borderline fluorescent blood splattered all over the wooden floor of Professor Peter Port’s classroom. 

“Excellent. Miss Xiao Long, was that your first Grimm?”

“It was,” Yang said, brushing her hair from her face with the back of one of her gauntlets. 

“Then allow me to congratulate you!” Port bellowed, handing her a towel. “Now for the rest of you. As in your other classes I do have a syllabus, but we’ll be going over it next class. Today I’d like to gauge all of your familiarity with Grimm, whether that be hearsay, folklore, research, or... _ hands-on _ experience. Would anyone like to volunteer?”

* * *

Ruby quietly stepped into the room for Leadership Class. 

It was more of a classroom than the lecture halls of the other classes had been. There was an old chalkboard at the front of the room and the tables were large and black, two seats to a table. Ruby pushed past a couple of standing groups and sat towards the back of the room. She slouched slightly and popped her scroll back out of her pocket to begin perusing through her media feeds. 

She'd barely been browsing for a moment when a bag landed on the table with a thud. Ruby's head snapped up with a jolt. 

Ruby turned her head to see the bag's apparent owner. He was a fairly skinny young man with messy blonde hair that just about reached his shoulders. He flashed her a grin. 

"Hey there," he said. "I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, ladies love it."

"Okay," Ruby said dryly. 

Jaune quirked an eyebrow. "And you are?"

Ruby put on her best Blake impression. "Ruby."

There was the sharp rap of something striking another at the front of the room and the buzz of activity in the room dropped at once. The two looked up. A severe-looking man with greying orange hair and a beard stood at the front of the room dressed in a suit and an old-fashioned wooden pointer in his hand. He cleared his throat and those who were standing quickly slid into their seats. 

He began to pace in front of the chalkboard as he started his lecture:

"Good afternoon, class. My name is Professor Peach. Welcome to Leadership Class. This class is for those of you chosen, whether by recognition of your current or prospective talent, to lead a team during your time at Beacon." He stopped his pacing and looked out over the classroom. "I would like to remind you at this time that, in fact, leadership is a privilege and not a right. If your conduct as leader proves unsatisfactory, you may be stripped of your title and leadership will be transferred to another member of your team, or in more extreme cases, to a member of our staff." He raised his eyebrows. "But I'm sure none of you will be such... _ disappointments." _

He began to pace again. 

"I would like to begin with a handful of questions, the first being:  _ why are you here?" _

The room had gone cold with tension. 

"Raise of hands, please, and if nobody steps forward I will not hesitate to call randomly. Yes, you in the back."

Jaune stood. "Uh, to kill monsters?"

Professor Peach leaned against his desk and folded his arms. "An understandable answer, given the public perception of Hunters. Not exactly what I was looking for, however." He unfolded his arms and began to pace again. "I'd like you all to think about leadership. What does it mean? What makes a good leader? Don't answer out loud. Consider leaders around you." 

He paused. 

"Finally, I'd like you all to consider yourself. Each of you has an ideal 'self' in your mind. Consider the gap between who you are now and who you want to be."

Ruby Rose slouched further into her chair. 

Jaune leaned over. "Man, what a load of bull," he whispered mockingly.

Ruby just looked back at him blankly. 

Peach continued. "Leadership is many things. It is courage in the face of danger. It is calm in the face of terror. It is decisiveness in the face of the unknown."

Ruby looked down.

* * *

Dinner that night was artificial steak, carrots, and mashed potatoes, all equally bland.

“So how was Leadership Class?” Yang asked Ruby. 

Ruby had eaten half of her food; she was pushing around the rest. “It was alright, I guess,” she said. “The guy next to me wouldn’t shut up, though.”

“What was the class about?” Weiss asked, picking at her food suspiciously. 

“Not a ton,” Ruby said. “Mostly just talking about what leadership means, or whatever. What did you do with your free period.”

“I did some studying while Blake read,” Weiss said. “Yang hung out with some of her friends, I think.”

“Yep,” Yang said, swallowing down a whole bite of mashed potatoes. “Just chilled with some of the old Signal crew.”

“Ah,” Weiss said, nodding. 

There was an awkward silence.

“Has anyone put any thought into weapon selection?” Weiss asked. 

“I have my mom’s old lever-action rifle-sword,” Ruby said, perking up. “It’s called the Red Rose.”

“Greaves,” Yang said with the mouth full. 

“Dunno yet,” Blake said, pushing her empty plate away. “Everyone done?”

“I’m full,” Ruby said.

* * *

It was quickly approaching midnight. Ruby found herself unable to sleep, despite tossing and turning and flipping her pillow over twice. 

From the inky darkness on the opposite side of their half of the room, Blake turned slightly. In a soft whisper, she asked, “You alright?”

Ruby froze, and after a moment she said simply, “I can’t get to sleep.”

“You didn’t have a very good day today, did you?” Blake asked.

“Not really,” Ruby conceded. 

Blake sighed softly. “I know how it feels. Do you usually do anything to help yourself sleep?”

“Nothing in particular,” Ruby whispered. 

“You could try...counting,” Blake said. “One of—er, one of my old friends usually did that when she couldn’t sleep.”

Ruby laid flat. She focused on the ceiling. She shut her eyes softly. She shut them forcefully. She opened them again. She turned her head back over to the other bed.

“Why are you awake, anyway?”

There was a moment of silence between the two.

“I have...bad dreams,” Blake said plainly. 

“Wanna talk about them?”

Ruby could hear a slight chuckle in Blake’s voice as she said, “Not really. Now get to sleep.”


End file.
